


Things Owed - Emancipation

by Akamaimom



Series: Things Owed [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akamaimom/pseuds/Akamaimom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the course of the years, they've become beholden to each other. Every once in a while, Jack and Sam try to settle their debts. This is a series of (mostly) episode tags. The individual stories stand alone as finished works, but they are part of a larger series. Sometimes humorous, sometimes poignant, there will be a little bit of everything. As the Muse demands. Jack/Sam-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Owed - Emancipation

Things Owed

 

It occurred to me (while watching Emancipation) that Jack and Sam give up quite a lot for each other during the course of their journey.

This will be a series--simple little ficlets about them trying to settle up their debts. Each story will stand alone, so it's going to be marked 'complete' even though there will be periodic new chapters as I find inspiration. If you can think of something you'd like seen "repaid", let me know. I'm always up for suggestions.

These will probably not go in any particular order, even though I am beginning an entire series re-watch--so that'll probably inspire me in the beginning. I'll indicate which episode corresponds with each ficlet. 

It'll be shippy. You've been warned.

 

Emancipation

 

"Hey, Daniel. Hey, Teal'c." Sam paused, then stopped by their table. Despite the crowded Mess, they'd been easy to find. Or rather, Teal'c had been easy to find. Jaffa just kind of tended to stick out. Something about the tattoo. Or the attitude. Or the massive quantities of food they piled on their orange commissary trays. Archaeologists, on the other hand, were often located only by default.

"Hey, Sam." Daniel looked up from his meal, simultaneously reaching for his coffee. "What's up?"

"Have either of you seen the Colonel?"

"I have, Captain Carter." Teal'c inclined his head in her direction. "This morning, after the meeting in which we debriefed General Hammond."

Daniel ducked his head to hide his grin, but Teal'c was too observant for such tricks.

"Have I said something you find humorous, Daniel Jackson?"

Sam shifted the package she held in her hands and shook her head. "He's just reverting back to being nine years old, Teal'c. 'Debrief' can also mean that you remove someone's underwear."

The face beneath the tattoo stalled for a moment. "What would be the purpose of such an activity, Captain Carter?"

"Oh, there's no purpose to it." Daniel coughed out what could only be described as a giggle. "It's just funny. Kind of like 'pantsing' someone."

Teal'c's swarthy, raised eyebrow effectively asked his question. 

"'Pantsing'." Sam cleared her throat, glaring across the table at the archaeologist. "That's just removing someone's pants."

"You’ve gotta pull them down quickly for it to be really effective.” Daniel’s smile was reflective—and a little mean. “But if the BVDs come down, too, well. That's just a bonus."

Carter fixed Daniel with her best 'big sister' glare. "I would have thought that, of all the people on Earth, you would be most against pantsing people."

Daniel gestured at her with his coffee cup. "I am, in theory."

"In theory?"

"And of course, I wouldn't ever do it to anyone." He ducked his head again, hiding behind his coffee cup as he spoke around his sip. "Again."

"Again?"

Daniel swallowed with a sort of purposeful inefficiency. "Well, I grew up in foster homes after my parents' accident. I had to learn to defend myself."

"Were not these fosterers protective of those under their care?" 

"Foster parents." Daniel supplied. "And they were--but there's a pecking order in these situations. After a while, I got tired of being pecked."

"That actually explains a lot about you, Daniel." Sam humphed a little. "I'd wondered."

Daniel's brows gathered at the bridge of his nose. "What had you wondered?"

"How exactly you got so resilient. You're a novice with weapons, but you're a survivor all the same."

"You can only get beaten down so many times before it either breaks you or you learn to fight back."

"True." Sam shifted the parcel she held. 

"So." Daniel seemed anxious to change the topic of conversation. "What's in the box?"

Looking downward, the Captain offered a little half-shrug. It wasn't an impressive box, only about ten inches square by five inches tall. She'd dug it out of a box of random gift wrapping stuff she'd found at home. It still had tape on it from the last time it had been used. Reboxing—was that even a word? "Nothing much. Just something I thought that the Colonel might want."

"Might it be donuts?" Teal'c's expression had turned from thoughtful to hopeful.

"No. Not donuts." Sam glanced around the Mess again before giving a vague sigh. "Anyway. Have either of you seen him? I mean—more recently than this morning."

"I have not, Captain Carter." And with that, the big Jaffa turned his whole-hearted attention to the gigantic helping of mashed potatoes on one of the plates in front of him. 

"Daniel?"

"Nope." He picked up his fork and speared a soggy carrot. "Not since the meeting this morning. Although he could be in his office. He told me on the way out of the board room that he had paperwork to complete."

Carter's expression turned from inquisitive to flummoxed. "Does Colonel O'Neill even know where his office is?"

From around his mouthful of carrot, Daniel snorted. "Dunno. Do you?"

 

\-------OOOOOOOO-------

 

At least her box got a decent tour of the SGC. If there was an upside to the wild goose hunt she'd gone on this afternoon, that was it. 

Sam stood in the hallway outside the main elevator, mentally ticking off the places she'd visited in her search for her CO. Mess, 'Gateroom, locker room, armory, Daniel's lab, infirmary, her own lab, O'Neill's office, the gym, board room, and even the records room. Hide nor hair. Returning to her own lab, she'd sat and waited for inspiration to strike, without result. Finally, she'd looked at her watch and resolved to pick up the search in the morning.

She'd already punched the 'up' button, but she punched at it again, just out of annoyance, as if that diminutive circle of illuminated plastic were at fault, somehow, for her failure to locate her boss. She switched the box from one hip to the other. Damn if the thing hadn't increased in weight by about twenty pounds during her search. And all for a crap-load of nothing. 

She hit the button again. Just because. Then sighed heavily when she heard no familiar whirring of life down the elevator shaft. Some idiot somewhere had the doors pinned open using another stupid round illuminated piece of plastic. Damn again.

Turning, she considered her options. 

Stairs? She didn't relish that thought. The last mission had done a number on her quads and hamstrings, and she had a hard enough time sitting on the john, let alone schlepping up fifteen flights of stairs. That fight with the Ghengis Khan wannabe, as well as her unaccustomedness to jumping up onto and subsequently falling down off of horses had taken their toll. She hadn't broken anything, but her muscles were fairly peeved at her.

So, no stairs. And since she was fresh out of mini wormholes that would transport her directly to the surface and her aging Volvo, she whacked at the little button again. 

"What did it ever do to you?"

Startled, Sam whirled to find the Colonel standing behind her in the hallway. His leather jacket lay folded over his arm, and his keys lay in his semi-open palm. He was wearing jeans, and a dark blue crew-neck sweater. His hair was still damp. He smelled like soap—and some sort of grooming product that made Sam want to lean close and inhale more deeply.

She cleared her throat. "Going home, Sir?"

"If you're looking for a pithy reply, I've exhausted them all writing mission reports."

How did he always make her feel like a blithering idiot? Sam could handle things pretty well off-world, or in combat situations. But times like this—both in civvies, both removed from their normal roles, she never quite felt as if she measured up to her CO. Like he was light-years beyond her not only in experience, but also in something else—something undefinable. 

"No." She shook her head. "Of course you're tired, Sir."

"Do I look that bad?" He peered around her, ostensibly to catch a glimpse of himself in the dull patina of the elevator doors. "I thought I'd cleaned up quite pretty."

"Yes. Naturally you did." Stammer, stammer. But Carter couldn't seem to stop it. "I mean—not pretty, but cleaned up. But of course you're pretty—not pretty—but handsome—or—something."

"You think I'm handsome?"

"No—I mean yes—I mean—" Damn it to Hell. Sam bit her lips together and thrust the package at the Colonel. "Here."

He reached out and grabbed the box in one large hand. "What's this?"

"Just something." She gestured a little randomly at it. "I kind of figured I owed you."

"Owed me for what?"

Genuine. His expression had turned sincere. His dark brown eyes—when had she noticed how deep they were?—had gone from wry to serious in mere moments. Carter notched her chin up a bit and sucked in a breath to begin the speech she'd been rehearsing in her head for the past few hours.

But before she'd intoned the first word, the elevator dinged open and a horde of people disembarked. Sam was directly in their path, and she felt herself being carried along by them until the Colonel neatly grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the way and down a corridor and towards safety.

"You'd think they were stampeding."

"It's a shift change, Sir."

His look let her know that her proffered information was superfluous. "I think I gathered that."

"Right. Sorry." 

He sighed. "So, what's in the box?" He raised it up towards his ear and made a move as if to shake it. 

"Um—sir. I wouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

She reached out and took it from him. "It's just not—the best thing." Glancing around, she judged proximities, and jerked her head northward. "Do you want to head to my lab?"

Calculating, he held her gaze for several beats. "Not work, right? Because I'm fresh out of gumption."

Her lips curved into a smile. "Not work. I promise."

They'd assigned her the lab while SG-1 had been on P3X-595. Bare bones, devoid of anything but a lab table and a stool, Carter had spent a few days' worth of down time scavenging for the necessary equipment to continue the work that she'd previously been doing out of a borrowed research lab at the Academy. Patched together with haphazard gear and pilfered tools, the place looked just like her garage back when she'd been a teenager, practicing arc-welding, fiddling with her sizable model rocket collection, and running experiments that had frequently gone horribly wrong. And it offered her a semblance of home—far more so, at least, than the spare room she was camping in at her Dad's crash pad here in the Springs. Why he kept the place, she didn't know, but it had been a God-send during these first few months of unmitigated crazy she'd found since being transferred to the SGC.

The door stood open—she hadn't seen the point in locking it—so Sam merely walked on through the opening, reaching out unerringly as soon as she'd reached her workbench to flick on the light there.

"Where'd you get the lamp?" The Colonel had stopped on the opposite side of the big table. "Last I heard, you'd filled out a requisition order for one, but it hadn't been approved."

Sam looked down at the little reading light glowing on her worktable. She tried not to look too guilty. "I—uh—I stole it."

He didn't look surprised. "From?"

"The Armory." She lifted a shoulder, trying to seem blasé. "Those guys have everything."

"And the tools?"

"Um—" she considered for a moment. "Most of the standard tools are borrowed from Motor Pool. The rest I sort of charmed out of a lab assistant in the MALP bay."

"Charmed, huh?" His smile took her off guard. Reaching out, he tapped a large hex wrench with an index finger. "Good girl. I'm teaching you well."

She bit her lip against the grin that threatened. For something to do, she adjusted the package on the table in front of her, trying not to watch too intently as the Colonel heaped his jacket on an empty spot on the table. "Anyway, Sir. I wanted to give this to you."

"Not donuts."

"Sir?"

"The box." He indicated it with a motion of his head. "It's too heavy for it to be donuts."

"Why does everyone think that there are donuts in it?"

"Who else thought that?"

"Teal'c. I ran into him and Daniel while I was looking for you."

"You were looking for me?"

Sam nodded, her brows high. "Yes, as a matter of fact. For most of the afternoon."

"I was doing paperwork."

She frowned. "Where?"

"The library."

"We have a library?"

"Sure." He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "It's quiet and there are tables. It's usually empty. So. Yeah. Perfect place to do paperwork."

For a brief moment, all Sam could do was stare at him and blink. "A library. Who knew?"

He tilted his head to one side, his gesture one of modest superiority. "Well, I did. That's why I'm the Colonel."

She couldn't help it. Her grin practically outshone the lamp. "Anyway. The box."

"Yes." He smiled back at her. "The box."

"While we were with Abu's people---the Shavadai—Daniel told me that Turghan didn't want to let—uh—didn't want to—"

O'Neill had always had the talent of breaking things down to their simplest elements. "He didn't want to sell you back to us."

A tinge of pink settled on Carter's cheeks. "Daniel told me that you argued for a while."

"Negotiated." A dimple made its mark on Jack's cheek as he semi-scowled. "The guy knew what he had and really didn't want to give you up."

"I would have thought he'd have jumped at the chance to rid himself of me. I didn't make things easy for him."

"Ah—but maybe he liked the challenge." Picking up a screwdriver, the Colonel pressed his fingertip against the cloven end. "He said he was even thinking about making you a wife."

For several long moments, Sam couldn't even inhale. "A wife?" 

"Apparently you made quite the impression. He called you 'beautiful, but difficult'."

She was back to stammering. "I don't even know—I can't—I'm just—"

"You've got to admit that he had you pegged." Jack pointed at her with the screwdriver. "He offered us other women, instead. Young ones. He told us they'd pop us out lots of sons. The implication being, of course, that you were too—"

"Old."

"Old."

They'd said the word simultaneously, Carter's tone being one of disgust. The Colonel, however, seemed to relish the phrase. So much so that he said it again. "Too old."

"That son of a bi--"

"Now, now. It's done and we're home. Safe and sound." He gently placed the tool he'd been playing with back onto the table before leaning forward and bracing his splayed palms on the cool metal surface. "And you have a box."

A tirade had worked itself up in Sam's throat, but she swallowed it and refocused on the task at hand. "Yes. Well, Daniel didn't tell me all of that."

"Coward."

"But," she ignored him and continued. "But he did tell me that Turghan agreed to release me when you offered him your sidearm."

His snort was decisively derisive. "Idiot didn't know that it only had six rounds left in the magazine. After he'd shot them all of into the air, the thing was essentially a paperweight."

"Yes, well. I figure that, since you gave yours up for me—" She flipped open the box and turned it towards him, folding back the lid completely to reveal its contents. "I owe you a new one."

Jack straightened, reaching out to pull the box closer to him. His dark eyes looked down at the contents of the box for a long, long time before coming back up to study her. "Kleenex?"

"Tissue paper." She'd wadded up copious quantities of the stuff and packed it around the weapon—an incongruous arrangement that she now kind of regretted. She should have put it into a foam-bed case. But there hadn't been time. "I didn't want it sliding around the box." 

His hand dipped into the box and brought the weapon out, holding the heavy gun easily, his trigger finger safely parallel to the barrel. "This is an M-15. Forty-five cal. Manufactured by Rock Island Arsenal. Walnut grips. This is an officer's weapon. This is a really rare officer's weapon."

"I thought you'd like it. Because you have big hands." She immediately colored again. More deeply than before. "Not that I've noticed your hands—but you're a large man—I mean—bigger than me—and I figured you'd prefer a bigger weapon. Or something."

Out of habit more than anything else, he sniffed at it, then released the safety and with deft efficiency, cycled the slide. "You cleaned it."

"Of course I cleaned it. Although I've had it serviced most recently by the on-base armorer. I've had it for a while, though I've only put a few hundred rounds through it. It's not new—but it's solid."

"You don't want it?"

"I want you to have it." Sam bit at her lip. "Unless you don't want it—then I could get you whatever kind you'd like. Glock. Sig Sauer. Colt. Ruger. I've got a bit of a stash."

His expression was completely unreadable. His shuttered eyes moved between her face and the weapon in his hand.

"Or, we could go to the gun shop and you could pick your own." Sam concentrated on breathing. The sinking in her gut told her she'd made a colossal mistake, and she struggled to keep her already iffy composure. "I mean, I found this one at an estate sale years ago, and thought it was pretty special—but if you'd prefer new—"

"No—this is—" He exhaled heavily, then released the slide with a satisfying 'snick' and flicked the safety back on. His eyes caught hers, and held them. His lips curled into a smile. "This is perfect."

Relief. Warm, sweet relief rushed through her, and she found herself smiling back. "The extra magazines are in the box. They're original—the serial numbers match. I loaded them for you. I never did have a holster for it. I kept it in my bag."

"Your bag." A glimmer of something new—respect?—chased through his features.

"Yeah. It's too big for me to conceal on-person. So, I just stashed it in whatever purse I was carrying."

"Helluva purse."

"Yes. I guess." She inhaled deeply, then indicated the box, still open, between them on the work bench. "So—we're even?"

His brows dipped slightly. "We were never uneven, Carter."

"I—well—you know what I mean."

He nodded. "I guess."

"And I've always hated that feeling of being—beholden." She ran a finger along the sharp-ish cardboard edge of the container. "Of owing people."

She could tell instantly that he understood—that in this thing they were in complete accord. Despite his initial concerns about her scientific background, they really did have more in common than one would initially think. Certain things—their military service first and foremost—had defined them in a way that other things couldn't. Over the past few months, her attitude towards him had changed—morphing from her simply wanting to impress him with her prowess and skill to something more—humanizing.

She didn't know how else to explain it. The more she knew the Colonel, the more intrigued she was by the man. 

But this particular quirk was on her. She really just hated feeling like she was in someone's debt, no matter how deeply she lived in his pockets day by day. And so she shut the box with an air of finality and pushed it all the way towards his side of the table. "Then we're good."

The Colonel lifted the lid just enough to stow the weapon in its frothy nest and then secured it again. He was still staring down at the box when he said, "Captain—you were always good."

Dammit, but she was blushing again. 

And dammit again, he'd noticed. 

Sam shuffled a few things around on her workbench—just for something to do. "So—heading home?"

"Yes." He picked up his jacket in one hand and the box in the other. " You?"

"Yes." She switched the light off and then followed him as he headed towards the corridor outside her door. They took a few steps back in the direction of the elevator before she answered him. "I was going to pick up some Chinese, first."

"Golden Canyon?"

They'd arrived at the twin doors. She pressed the button and then stepped back to stand at the Colonel's side. "I was thinking Ming's."

"I'm surprised you're not going for Mongolian BBQ."

On pure impulse, Sam leaned sidewise and nudged his shoulder with her own. "Funny."

He glanced at her before nudging back. "Golden Canyon has better egg rolls."

Sam inclined her head, considering. "True. But I prefer the Kung Pao at Ming's."

"Ah." The door opened and O'Neill paused to let her get in first. He watched as she punched the button for the surface. "Shrimp or chicken?"

"Both."

"A connoisseur." 

"No, just indecisive." 

"You?" He caught himself as the elevator jerked into motion. "That's a flagrant falsehood, Captain. You're too picky to be indecisive."

She pretended to be enthralled with the numbers changing on the display above the doors, not sure how to respond to that. "Anyhow, Ming's is closer to home."

"There's that."

The doors slid wide, and they stepped off, heading in companionable silence past the security checkpoint and out into the deepening evening light. To their right lay the parking lot, to the left, the gated formal entrance to the Mountain. O'Neill's truck sat in the furthest lane from the checkpoint, while Sam had parked her Volvo towards the front, and off to the far left. She paused. "I'm over there."

"That beast back there's mine." He cast her a look out of the corner of his eye. "So, see you tomorrow."

"Sure. Bright and early. Briefing at nine, right?"

"Okay, then." 

"All right."

She turned, moving purposefully off towards her car, only to be pulled up short by footsteps moving up quickly behind her.

"Hey, Carter! Hold up!"

Pivoting, she watched as the Colonel neared her, then stopped a few yards away. "You said earlier that you had a 'stash'. Were you talking guns?"

She twisted her nose a little, unsure how to answer that without seeming like a bit of a fanatic. "I've got a collection."

"So, what. Five? Ten?"

She sighed, then scratched randomly at her nape. "A few dozen? Maybe more. I haven't counted them lately."

"Seriously?"

"They're shiny. And useful. And make things explode." She grinned, despite herself. "And it's fun making things explode."

"You know, most women are into things like shoes."

"C'mon, Sir." She folded her arms across her abdomen. "I'm not like most women."

It took a beat or two for him to answer. "No. No, you're not."

Suddenly, despite the cool of the evening—a sliding warmth made its way down her body to nestle in her center. She angled herself again in the direction of her car, mostly to hide the tremor that threatened. "Okay then. Goodnight."

"You know, you really didn't owe me anything, Captain."

She stopped, then turned yet again. "Sir?"

"Back on that planet. With the Mongols and the headgear and the dress and the Genghis Khan guy." His long strides ate up the ground between them. He stopped a few feet from her.

"What about it?"

"In our line of work, you don't often see something so—pretty."

Confused, Sam narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?" 

"Giving up that gun was small potatoes in comparison with just being able to watch you."

She made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a guffaw. "Yeah, like I had any say at all in wearing that blue dress get-up and the headdress from Hell."

"That was good, too." The Colonel grinned, remembering. "But I was talking about later on—when you kicked that warlord's butt in the hand to hand." 

"What about it?"

"That little battle was a true thing of beauty. Skillful, precise, and perfect. Wish I had it taped. That fight, and the way you made the prehistoric weasel squirm, is the stuff of daydreams." His dark eyes surveyed her, appraising her—more frankly than he had since the first time they'd met in the board room. His gaze returned to her face, capturing her full attention, even as a slow smile spread across his face. "And getting to witness that, Captain Samantha Carter, was payment enough. I didn't give up anything nearly as valuable."

She couldn't answer—there weren't words. And even if there were, she couldn't have made any noises move past the sudden dryness that had closed off her throat. She had to break eye contact so that she'd remember to breathe. 

"Having said that," his voice invaded again, this time carrying something new—an intimacy that she hadn't heard before, a tone that promised something that she couldn't quite identify. He took a few long strides backwards before raising the box he carried towards her in a kind of purposeful salute. "I'm still keeping the gun."


End file.
